The Kind of Masculinity the World has Forgotten
Egypt Codes: Part Five
This post continues the Egypt Codes — reflections and transmissions from a pilgrimage that profoundly shifted my understanding of consciousness, history, and my own soul. If you’re new here, start with Part One.
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The last time we were together was potent. We spoke about contrast, responsibility, and humility, and reflected on what it means to see clearly without placing ourselves above what we see.
Remember, just because we can recognize something doesn’t mean we know more than someone else. It simply means we’re being asked to hold a wider perspective. One that understands that every part of life, even unconsciousness, plays a role in the evolution of consciousness itself.
So, as we move forward into today’s transmission, I’d like to rewind a bit… back to the moment we first arrived at the pyramids.
If you remember, I fell to my knees while tears began pouring down my face. When I finally stood back up, Leandra and I were both wiping tears from our eyes.
Almost immediately, a man approached us. He looked directly at us and gently said, “No, no, no tears. Welcome home. Welcome home.” There was something about the way he said it that landed straight in my heart.
He wasn’t trying to stop us from feeling. It felt more like he was acknowledging what was happening. Like he understood the depth of what we were touching inside our hearts. He asked us our names. And when I told him mine, he smiled and said, “Jenna… that’s an Egyptian name.” I had never heard that before, but I heard it every single time I introduced myself to someone moving forward.
That was the first moment we met him.
At the time, it felt like a brief, kind exchange before we continued on with our group. But thankfully, this was not our last interaction with this precious human. He kept appearing throughout the day in the most unexpected ways. At first, I barely noticed him. He wasn’t drawing attention to himself or inserting himself into our experience. He simply seemed to be nearby as we moved from place to place.
As we were walking between different areas of the pyramids with our group, he found us again. This time, he walked up with two small gifts in his hands. He handed one to me and one to Leandra - little scarabs. They were so precious! We were so touched by his thoughtfulness. Nothing about the interaction felt demanding. There was no sense that we owed him something in return. He smiled, said a few kind words, and then disappeared again as quickly as he had arrived.
We continued on with our group, moving from place to place, listening to our guide and taking in the magnitude of where we were. But every once in a while, I would notice him nearby. Not hovering or inserting himself into the experience. Just… around.
Once we broke away from our group for some free time to meditate and wander, he came over again and asked if we wanted him to take some photos for us. Of course we said yes. And it turns out he was an incredible photographer! He knew exactly where to stand so the pyramids framed the shot perfectly, and he kept showing us different places to stand so the light and angles looked just right. We ended up with some of our favorite photos from the entire trip because of him.
Leandra and I found a quiet place to sit against one of the pyramids to meditate. As we closed our eyes and settled into stillness, he quietly positioned himself nearby. And without saying a word, he began guarding the space around us. Kids would start running toward us, curious about what we were doing, and he would gently guide them in another direction. If someone began walking toward where we were sitting, he would redirect them somewhere else.
He wasn’t aggressive or making a scene. He was simply holding the space so we could sit there undisturbed. I remember becoming aware of what he was doing at one point during our meditation and feeling this deep sense of appreciation move through my body. He didn’t interrupt us or ask us for anything. He simply protected our moment, watching the space and making sure it stayed safe for us. It was so incredibly beautiful.
And he didn’t leave us once.
It took me a moment to realize what my body was registering. There was no tension. No subtle vigilance. No feeling that I needed to manage the interaction or calculate how to respond. Just…ease. As I watched him move through the area, quietly steering people away, keeping an eye on things without ever making himself the center of attention, I began to recognize something.
This was masculine energy.
Not the kind many of us have become accustomed to navigating, but something steadier and more ancient. The kind that protects life without needing to claim ownership of it. This is the kind of masculinity that many ancient cultures understood well. The role of the masculine is not to dominate life, but to guard it and to create the conditions where life, creativity, and the feminine can move freely and safely.
Our little guardian certainly wasn’t dominating the space. He wasn’t performing or trying to be impressive either. He seemed completely content simply tending to the moment and the people within it. There was a grounded attentiveness in the way he moved, like he understood his role in the environment and had no need to be anything other than that.
I remember feeling how rare that was.
Many women (including myself) have experienced masculine energy in ways that feel very different. Sometimes as control, sometimes as absence, sometimes as pressure or performance. This felt nothing like that. It felt calm and respectful. Attuned to what was happening around it. And my nervous system recognized the difference immediately.
I allowed my body to settle fully into stillness as I leaned against the pyramid - this incredible wonder of the world. When I stopped moving and settled into the rhythm of my breath, the sounds around me started to come into focus. Children laughing. Vendors calling out. Footsteps against stone. Animals weaving through the pathways (there were temple dogs everywhere). The wind moving across the desert. Conversations rising and falling in many different languages as people passed by. It was busy and alive and layered with movement.
And sitting there listening, I realized that this was the soundtrack of life. And this is what life has always sounded like there. The pyramids have stood for thousands and thousands of years, and the same mixture of reverence, curiosity, commerce, noise, and ordinary human life has unfolded around them the entire time. The sacred and the everyday existing together. One and the same.
Consciousness isn’t about controlling life or forcing it into order. It’s about learning how to stand inside the fullness of it with integrity. The world doesn’t need more domination. What it needs are people who know how to care for the spaces they move through. People who protect what is sacred without trying to possess it, and whose presence makes it safer for life to unfold.
The way our precious guardian treated us wasn’t unusual here.
Other men throughout our pilgrimage interacted with us in similar ways - respectful, attentive, protective of the space around us, without ever feeling intrusive. It was subtle, but it was unmistakable. There was a kind of quiet stewardship in the way the men showed up there.
There was consistently a willingness to help, watch over, and support what was unfolding without needing to control it. It was incredible to discover how much my nervous system relaxed in the presence of that energy. I never felt like I had to guard myself. I never felt like I had to manage someone else's behavior or attention. Instead, there was this underlying sense that we were being looked out for and that our presence there was respected.
That moment at the pyramids was my first real introduction to that energy.
And, as the Egypt journey continued, I would experience it again and again in different forms. Each moment revealing a little more about what true masculine presence can look like when it’s rooted in care, steadiness, and respect for life around it.
At the time, I simply carried the quiet gratitude of that first encounter with me as we moved on through our day. And Egypt, as it turns out, had many more lessons waiting. When we come back together next time, we will dive into an experience that reshaped the way I understand life, death, and rebirth.
